You're Not There
by London Romance
Summary: One-sided K2, implied one-sided Stan/Kyle. "Not completely. Not ever."


_YOU'RE NOT THERE_

"_Not completely. Not ever._ ,,

ONE-SIDED K² ( KYLE / KENNY ).

IMPLIED ONE-SIDED STAN / KYLE.

* * *

><p>We got a bottle of Jack Daniels that I hoped my dad won't miss from my fridge and took my beat-up car (you begged and pleaded for the wheel, so I made you pout and grovel for a few minutes before I busted out laughing and said all right) and just drove - away from everyone and everything. We found this little spot off the road that was maybe just a little too perfect and lazily passed the bottle between us on the bed of my truck as sun set. I could taste something akin to you laced in (not that I'd know <em>your<em> taste from experience, but Jack and I go way back).

We sat in silence until you brought about a random Q and A session. I start.

"What's your favorite color?"

Yours was blue (and I needed the bottle so damn much at that point because I know. You don't know that I know (goddamn, what is this, Mean Girls?), but I do). You ask what mine is and I say green. The reason behind it was so blatantly obvious. But if you didn't pick up on it, then I wasn't giving you any reasons to look into it.

"What's the last book you read?"

Strangely, I could answer this with something that distinctly wasn't a Playboy. (But does anyone actually read those?) "Something classical. Something we'd probably be assigned to read in school. I actually started to go to the library for more than free access to porn," I smile, surprised at myself for having taken precious time away from boobs to hit the books.

You laugh and tell me that, whatever book it was, you'd probably say that the message was good, but the wording could've been improved. I laugh too because that's such a Kyle thing to say.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"From what?" Kyle asks, effectively ruining the whole question and answer thing we've got going (question and question is less catchy, but whatever).

"I don't know. People, your life. Everyone…everything."

You smile, tilt your head back, and shout, with your arms wide open, "The _world_."

That is now my favorite line. I'd make it my ringtone, if I could. I tell Kyle this. He calls me a dick and we move on.

But I never expected anything less from you. You're the kind of guy who will never settle for anything less than perfection. I guess that makes for a model student, but it annoys the fuck out of your friends. You're also righteous and stubborn and goddamn beautiful. I'm pretty sure I've never told you that, and I intend to keep it that way.

"What's the worst thing I've ever done to you?"

I didn't think the "_nothing, you're perfect_," that was about to spill out of my mouth was exactly what you were looking for, so I said the time you accidentally ousted me to Stan for sleeping with Wendy (and I actually was still pissed about that, but not as much as I should've been, because, well. You're you.)

You look down and I can feel your regret. You say you're sorry, but it _was_ the right thing to do.

"Yeah, yeah. I get it, holier-than-thou. By the way, Red's told me all about what a good lay you are and I kind of want to prove her right." I wink and elbow your side because that's what you expect from me. I anticipate the obligatory smile and "_shut up,_ _you whore_" you retaliate with.

But if we rewind, if you just gave yourself the time to see how my laugh is hollow, how I need a moment to recover from not getting an answer at all…

Then again, I never _really _let on that I like you. I wish I had the courage to pursue everything that's worth it. But instead, I laugh, nod, and shrug my shoulders at all the right moments as the alcohol slides down my throat. We're both a little buzzed, but you've started holding your liquor a hell of a lot better. Why are we growing up so fast?

You lean over. "You know who's gotten really fucking hot?"

"Who?"

"Me!" Kyle rolls over, clutching the bottle and laughing.

I chuckle and take the bottle from you. Scratch that. Maybe I should rethink your tolerance level.

You automatically turn to me to pout. I hug the bottle mock possessively. "No matter how sexy you get, Jack will always be mine. Isn't that right, baby?" I stick my tongue in the opening and move it around, waggling my eyebrows. Kyle scoffs, cupping his face with his hand. I drink, but still don't let him anywhere near it after I finish. He crawls over and reaches for it while I hold it out of his grasp. He effectively gives up after three seconds and rests his head on my lap. Potentially problematic, but not so much that I would shove you off. You get comfortable and close your eyes. I know you're wiped out from school (you still care, even after you made it clear to your mom that you weren't her bitch anymore and you might get shit grades just to spite her (that didn't go very well)), friends (you have so many now, I feel kind of lost sometimes, but then stuff like this happens and it's okay), Stan (because you're still best friends and you want more, but he has Wendy and you could have me, if you'd like) and generally, everything.

Before you drift off, you take my turn again and ask, "Will you always be mine?"

I don't hesitate. "Always."

"Thank you for lying," he grins, and promptly slumbers.

I finish the bottle and wait until I'm absolutely sure you're asleep to speak my mind. "Thank you for not being there. Not fully, anyway. I enjoy this sort of thing a lot more." I smile and kiss his head. I dig through the emergency kit near me and throw the blanket I find over him. I put my arm behind my head and rest.

This isn't enough. It never will be. But when Kyle has the world in his pocket, just like he wants it, I can say that I was his for a few hours and he was mine (always).


End file.
